


Whatever Happened to Predictability

by nxghtwxng



Series: Unlikely Allies [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Brotherly Bonding, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Coming Out, Family Fluff, Minor Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Minor Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Multi, damian comes out to his family, gratuitous family bonding, yes the title is from the full house theme song
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27772756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxghtwxng/pseuds/nxghtwxng
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, the Bats dotryto act like a normal family. But really, a family of highly-skilled vigilantes is not normal in the slightest.Or: A series of BatFamily moments periodically interrupted by their efforts to save the world.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Unlikely Allies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786231
Comments: 15
Kudos: 185





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know it took me months to get here, but I present to you the final installment of Unlikely Allies. And look! It's a multi-chapter this time!

It was mid-April, which usually meant gloomy skies in Gotham City. However, for the past week or so, the weather had been exceptionally nice, an apparent gift from Mother Nature in celebration of Gotham Academy’s spring break. 

It was Dick’s idea to take advantage of the pleasant weather. As soon as he had realized that the younger Bats would be on their school vacation during a week neither he, Jason, nor Bruce were scheduled to be off-world or out-of-state, he suggested a pool party. 

Damian had scoffed at the idea, all but offended by just how juvenile it seemed. Tim and Cass, however, seemed pleased by the idea. Even Jason agreed to come after coercing Bruce into promising to provide pizza and beer.

“You’re not twenty-one yet,” Bruce had tried to argue. 

_“And yet I already have a death certificate,”_ Jason replied without missing a beat. Bruce sighed and reluctantly agreed that Jason could have _one_ beer.

Jason snorted. _“Sure. One beer,_ ” he agreed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Jason—” Bruce started.

 _“See ya Friday,”_ Jason interrupted. He then ended the FaceTime call.

“Can I—” Tim began as soon as the call had ended. He was tucked into one of the den’s more comfortable armchairs, a gaming console in his hands. Damian sat in the armchair opposite his brother. A novel rested precariously on the arm of the chair, abandoned in favor of doting on Alfred the Cat, who had leaped into Damian’s lap not long after he sat down. 

Bruce, who was sprawled on the couch between his two youngest sons, phone in hand, was quick to interject. “No, you may not have a beer,” he stated firmly, eyes narrowing at Tim. 

“Noted,” Tim agreed. “But I was going to say: Can I invite Steph and Kon?”

At that, Damian perked up. “If he’s inviting Brown and the clone, I want to invite Jon.”

Bruce nodded, seemingly relieved at the innocence of his youngests’ requests. Keeping one underaged son from drinking was much more manageable than three. “That’s fine, both of you. I’ll speak with Clark and see if he and Lois would like to come as well.”

On Friday morning, shortly after breakfast, Alfred headed to the backyard to uncover the pool. Damian, who was in the yard with Titus, strolled over to meet the older man. As Alfred peeled back the cover, Damian peered over the edge at the murky water.

“We swim in that?” Damian asked. 

Alfred shook his head. “Not quite, my dear boy. I do believe this pool is in need of a good cleaning. If I’m not mistaken, we haven’t used this space since before you joined us in the manor.”

Damian nodded in affirmation. The yard itself was quite large, and Damian had spent plenty of time on the manor’s grounds, usually with Titus, sometimes with his sketchbook. This particular area of the yard, however, with patio tiles instead of grass, a sizable swimming pool, and an outdoor kitchenette complete with a barbecue and mini-fridge, was rarely used by any of the manor’s occupants. 

“I am glad the pool is finally getting some use,” Alfred continued. “It’s been so long since we’ve utilized this space that I was nearly rethinking my denying Master Tim’s request to drain the pool so he could use its walls as skate ramps.”

After speaking with Alfred, Damian wandered inside, calling for Titus so that the dog wouldn’t disturb Pennyworth as he cleaned the pool. He found himself in the kitchen, where Tim and Cass were seated at the breakfast bar, case files spread out in front of them.

“What are you working on?” Damian asked.

“Michaelson case,” Tim replied. Damian, curiosity quickly piqued, seated himself in an empty barstool. 

Though they still referred to it as the Michaelson case, the investigation was much larger than just Eric Michaelson. 

The case had started as a single homicide investigation. Michaelson had been killed now almost six months ago, his throat slashed and evidence of antemortem torture obvious. Gotham PD had looked into the murder, but they were overworked and underfunded, and with little physical evidence outside of Michaelson’s body, the case had quickly grown cold in GCPD’s hands. 

Luckily, Red Robin made it a habit to look into GCPD’s inactive cases. He’d stumbled across Michaelson’s case, and something about the man seemed eerily familiar. Tim printed out a copy of GCPD’s case report, then began digging into Micahelson’s life. 

It didn’t take him long to realize why Michaelson had seemed familiar: He had been friends with Jack and Janet Drake. In fact, he had been friends with a number of important players in Gotham’s high society. It was odd, seeing as Michaelson was decidedly middle-class, but easily explained when Tim found that Michaelson had once been married to a local heiress. Though their marriage had ended a few years back, Michaelson seemed to have stayed connected to quite a few of Gotham’s big businessmen and politicians.

These relationships, however, did not bode well when Tim realized that Michaelson had been coerced into working for the Prophets, one of Gatham’s larger gangs. 

As soon as Tim established the connection between Michaelson and the Prophets, he began digging into the Prophets’ recent activity. It was odd, to say the least. It seemed they’d all but cleared off the streets since recruiting Michaelson. As far as Tim could tell, they were no longer pushing product. There were no recent territory disputes involving the Prophets. It was as if they’d ceased all gang-related activity.

Eventually, Tim realized that’s exactly what they had done. Michaelson had become the Prophets’ sole focus as they forced the man to exploit his relationship with Gotham’s high society. Per the Prophets’ instruction, Michaelson had contacted a number of political figureheads and corporate executives, asking for contributions to a non-existent charity that Tim was able to trace back to an off-shore account. He assumed Michaelson eventually became defiant, and lost his life as a result. 

Still, something about the case didn’t sit well with Tim. This type of crime wasn’t something you would expect of a gang. It was too intricate, too white collar. 

Tim eventually recruited Damian to help him look into the case. Though he’d only done so because Dami had just come out to him with a vulnerability that encouraged Tim to step up in the Big Brother Department, Damian proved to be the fresh set of eyes Tim needed. He was able to see what Tim hadn’t, namely the subtle discrepancies between Michaelson’s torture and the Prophets’ usual M.O. 

Michaelson’s autopsy report documented a series of shallow stab wounds in the abdominal region, but Damian pointed out that the stab wounds didn’t look like that of a regular knife. ( _Trust the Demon Spawn to be an expert on stab wounds_ , Tim had thought wryly.) Even the fatal slash across his throat didn’t look quite right. 

The two Robins worked on the case in tandem for another couple of weeks before they uncovered the reason for the variances in Micahelson’s torture: Alien technology.

The Prophets were no longer the Prophets. They’d been recruited and rebranded as Gotham’s own branch of Intergang, a crime syndicate far more criminally sophisticated than an average gang, known for distributing alien weaponry. 

The Prophets had been losing power on Gotham’s streets since their top players were arrested in a drug bust a few months back. Intergang had likely seen that as an opportunity. Recruiting the Prophets gave them easy access to Gotham, and a host of willing pawns who already knew the streets. In return, the Prophets got back their reputation and the respect of the criminal underworld.

Obviously, Intergang needed money, and they’d thought it easier to go after Michaelson, who had a direct link to Gotham’s big names, rather than go after those big names themselves. But what neither Tim nor Damian could figure out was why they needed these extra funds. Intergang was a powerful organization, powerful enough that even after years of trying Superman himself couldn’t shut them down. What were they planning that their own revenue couldn’t cover?

When Red Robin presented the case to Batman, he’d immediately opened his own investigation. The rest of the family was briefed soon after, and the Michaelson case became the newest Bat Family Project. 

“Is there any new intel?” Damian asked, leaning forward to get a better look at the files. 

Cass nodded and slid her file towards Damian. It was a copy of an incident report. Just last night a couple officers had stopped an armed robbery in progress. According to the report, the weapon used by the robber had appeared extraterrestrial in origin.

Tim sighed heavily, glaring at his own copy of the report. “These weapons are already hitting the streets, and we have barely any leads on Intergang’s new command post. It could be anywhere in Jersey at this point.” 

Damian returned his gaze to the incident report, only just realizing it came from Blüdhaven PD, not Gotham. “When did we get this report?” he asked.

“Dick sent it over last night,” Tim answered. The older boy slid out of his barstool, grabbing his empty mug and making his way across the kitchen to the coffee maker. 

Damian continued to read over the report, but aside from learning that Intergang’s prowess had spread to Blüdhaven, it did little to help in their overall investigation.

Other than the alien weaponry, the incident report read like a run of the mill armed robbery. Around ten o’clock last night, a man in a black hoodie entered a gas station convenience store. He pulled his weapon from the pocket of his sweatshirt, aimed it towards the cashier, and demanded he empty the register. There were no patrons in the store at the time of the robbery, but there was a second employee who had managed to call the police from the stockroom. A nearby patrol car responded to the call, and officers were able to apprehend the perpetrator with relative ease. He had been questioned as to where he obtained the weapon, but was refusing to talk. 

“Why would someone use alien technology to rob a convenience store?” Damian wondered aloud.

Tim rejoined Damian and Cass at the breakfast bar, his Wayne Enterprises mug now filled nearly to the brim with black coffee. “I’m wondering…” Tim began. He took a sip of his coffee, gathering his thoughts. “What if it wasn’t a robbery?” he proposed, setting his mug down. 

Cass tilted her head, the silent inquiry meant to encourage Tim to explain, while Damian said, “What are you on about, Drake?”

“I mean you have a point, Dami. Why do you need alien technology for a standard armed robbery?”

Damian’s nose wrinkled at the nickname.

“Superheroes?” Cass suggested.

“Even if you thought robbing a 7/11 would put you on a hero’s radar, the only cape in Blüdhaven is Nightwing. Dick is human, so a gun would be just as effective against him as alien tech,” Tim countered. He paused for a moment before asking, “What if this was just a stunt?”

Damian’s brow furrowed. “So the perpetrator was merely a pawn. Intergang used him to let us know that they’re expanding,” he realized. 

“Which would mean they know we’re on to them,” Tim added.

“What are you three up to?” 

The three in question turned around to see Alfred strolling into the kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he carried a few old rags that were likely on their way to the laundry after having been used to tidy up outside. His eyes narrowed slightly when he saw the mess of case files spread over the breakfast bar. 

“Master Timothy, what have I told you about bringing your night-work upstairs?” Alfred chided. 

“Why are you singling me out?” Tim cried.

Alfred ignored his protest. “You know the rule,” he chastised. 

The Rule had been commonplace since Dick had started out as Robin. Prior to taking Dick in, Bruce’s reputation was limited to that of a billionaire playboy, and the media was suspicious as to why a young man known solely for partying and being rich suddenly wanted to foster an eight-year-old orphan. The public scrutiny led to a lot of CPS visits, and Alfred had insisted anything having to do with their second lives stay downstairs in the Cave, fearful of a social worker stumbling across the paraphernalia and declaring Bruce an unfit guardian.

Even now, with four of Bruce’s children legally adopted and the other his by blood, Alfred continued to enforce The Rule.

Before Alfred could further reprimand Tim, the security alarm chimed, alerting the manor’s occupants that the front door had been opened. 

“Hey!” Dick’s voice sounded.

“We’re in the kitchen, Master Richard,” Alfred said, voice raised so that Dick could hear from his place in the foyer. 

A few moments later, Dick, dressed in swim trunks and a faded BPD t-shirt, entered the kitchen. “Morning,” he greeted. He was met with a chorus of replies. Alfred then excused himself, making his way to the laundry room to dispose of the dirty rags he’d taken in from outside. 

As Alfred left the kitchen, Bruce entered. Dick frowned at his adoptive father, who was clad in jeans and a t-shirt. “Why am I the only one wearing a swimsuit?” he pouted. “It’s a _pool party_ , guys.”

“Dude, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet,” Tim argued. He’d finally finished cleaning his case files off of the counter, and used the stack of papers to point at his flannel pajama pants and overlarge Superboy t-shirt. 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, as if he was just noticing Tim’s attire. “Is that Kon-El’s shirt?” he asked. 

Tim flushed. “I’m gonna go get dressed,” he announced, a little louder than necessary. He shoved his case files towards Dick. “Can you put these in the Cave for me?” he asked. Without waiting for a real answer, he dropped the files in Dick’s hands and rushed out of the kitchen. 

“Me too?” Cass asked. She, too, didn’t wait for an answer before dropping her files on top of Tim’s and exiting the kitchen.

Dick shrugged, unbothered. “What case is this?” he asked, lifting the cover of the top file folder to peer at its contents. 

“Michaelson,” Damian answered. 

“You guys get a chance to look at the incident report I sent over?”

Damian nodded. “We have a theory.”

Dick put a hand on Damian’s shoulder, guiding him towards the exit of the kitchen. “Come on. Fill me in while I put these away.” 

“I’d like to hear this theory, as well,” Bruce added, following after his boys.

“You haven’t heard it yet?” Dick asked. 

Bruce shook his head as Damian said, “It's in its early stages. Timothy, Cassandra, and I only just began developing the idea when you arrived.”

It didn’t take long for Damian to relay Tim’s theory to his father and brother. By the time he had finished, they’d only just entered the Cave.

“The question is do they know that _we’re_ the ones investigating their expansion?” Dick said, depositing the mass of files on an empty work table. 

“We should operate under the assumption that they do,” Bruce suggested, sitting down at the Bat Computer.

Dick nodded. “Better safe than sorry,” he agreed. He sat down on the edge of the work table and re-opened the most recent incident report.

“I think this guy is still in BPD custody,” Dick mumbled, more so to himself than to Damian or Bruce. “Hey, Dami, did you still want to stay the weekend at my place?” he added, eyes not leaving the file. 

Earlier in the week, when Dick had first proposed his pool party idea, he’d offered to let Damian come back to Blüdhaven with him to spend the tail ends of his school vacation away from the manor. He’d promised video games and junk food, and Damian had eagerly accepted the invitation. He quite liked the prospect of some time away from Drake and the ever-present Brown, who was somehow always at the manor despite technically living on the other side of town. 

That, and he had been looking for a convenient time to come out to Dick.

“Yes, if I’m still welcome,” Damian said.

“Yeah, of course you are,” Dick replied absently, thumbing through Tim’s files with rapt interest. “Bring your Robin gear. I think we should pay this guy a visit tonight.”

Damian looked to his father. Bruce nodded, silently granting his Robin permission to work as Nightwing’s partner, instead of Batman’s, for a few nights. 

“Hey, Bruce,” Dick said suddenly. “Look this guy up, will ya?” he asked, holding up the previous night’s incident report. 

“Name?” Bruce asked, turning to face the Bat Computer.

“Grant Gine.”

Bruce input the name. 

The computer always started with Gotham City information, ciphering through everything from GCPD records to Gotham Gazette articles. It would then expand to search state-wide, nation-wide, and then world-wide databases. It also gave the Bats direct access to the information stored on the Watchtower’s computer. That information included records on not only Earth, but also every foreign planet known to the League. 

Yet somehow, even with all of that information on hand, the computer could not tell them a single thing about Grant Gine outside of what they already knew. Gine had no drivers license, no current address, not even a birth certificate. The only documentation of the man was BPD’s police report from the previous night. 

“It’s probably an alias,” Bruce clarified. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he stared at the computer’s monitor. 

Dick sighed and tossed Gine’s file aside. “Of course it is,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. Then, to Bruce and Damian he added, “Babs might drop by later today. Maybe she can work her magic, figure out Gine’s real ID.”

Bruce hummed absently, eyes still on the monitor as if new information would appear if he just stared long enough. Dick sighed and shut the monitor off, pulling Bruce away from the computer before he lost himself completely in the case. Bruce protested, but followed his oldest upstairs, his youngest trailing behind him. 

* * *

Within the next hour, the rest of the manor’s expected guests arrived. 

Jason was quick to insist that he had only come because Bruce had promised free beer, though the worn super-soakers peeking out from the ratty Jansport he had thrown over his shoulder begged to differ.

Stephanie, on the other hand, made no effort to hide her excitement. She arrived with sunglasses perched on her head and a beach bag full of inflatable pool toys. “Grab a floatie, boys!” she’d cheered, upending her bag. A questionable amount of deflated pool floats fell onto the floor, waiting to be inflated. 

“Why?” Tim deadpanned, shaking his head, though he grabbed a deflated innertube from Steph’s pile. 

By mid-afternoon, the Kent’s had arrived, and the pool party was in full swing. With six young Bats and two young Supers, the yard had devolved into chaos rather quickly. Bruce had stayed in the yard for just over an hour before retreating inside, Clark and Lois following soon after. With their departure, the yard only became more hectic. 

“Who the fuck is on AUX?” Jason shouted from the pool. 

“Tim is!” Dick shouted in reply.

“Tim! What the fuck is this crap?” Jason yelled over the noise coming from a bluetooth speaker that was probably a little too expensive to be sitting as precariously as it was, nestled in a towel near the edge of the pool.

“It’s good music, you wouldn’t recognize it,” Tim retorted. He was leaning over the counter of the kitchenette, his head bent over his phone. Conner stood close to him, an arm wrapped loosely around Tim’s waist. 

“Timmy, I love you,” Steph called from where she reclined on one of her many pool floats. “But this song sucks ass.”

Tim looked aghast, and Kon laughed and mumbled something to his boyfriend. Tim huffed in response and handed Connor his phone. A moment later, the song changed.

“Thank God,” Jason exclaimed. 

“You’re welcome!” Kon chirped.

“I liked Tim’s song,” Jon announced to no one in particular. He and Damian were seated at an old picnic table, one of Alfred’s homemade pizzas placed between them.

“Jon,” Damian scolded. “Do not align yourself with the enemy.”

“Tim, you’re fired. Kon, you’re on AUX now,” Steph announced. Tim shouted in objection. Stephanie lowered her sunglasses and peered at Tim over the rims. “Timmy,” she said evenly. “Either you let your boy toy take over or I will throw your phone in the pool.” 

“Sorry, babe, you're outnumbered,” Kon jeered as he swiped at Tim’s phone, queuing songs. 

Tim groaned and slipped out of Kon’s hold, jumping back in the pool. Jason promptly came up behind him and pushed him underwater. 

“Play nice, Jaybird,” Dick chided as he waded to the edge of the pool. Jason scoffed as Tim emerged from underwater and immediately shoved Jason under in retaliation.

Dick pulled himself out of the pool and headed towards Jon and Damian. “How’re you guys doing over here?” he asked.

“Good!” Jon chirped around a mouthful of pizza.

“We are faring well,” Damian agreed. 

“Glad to hear it,” Dick replied. He reached for a slice of pizza and Damian batted his hand away. 

“Richard, you’re dripping pool water all over our pizza.”

“Hand me a slice then,” Dick requested, his voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. Damian rolled his eyes, but cooperated all the same.

“So, Baby Bat, I figured we’d stay for dinner tonight, then head out right after?”

“That’s fine,” Damian nodded.

“Where are you going?” Jon asked.

“Blüdhaven,” Damian answered curtly.

“Dami’s spending the weekend with his big brother,” Dick added, grinning. “I’m gonna go call Babs and let her know the plan. She might drop by for dinner if she doesn’t get held up at work.” 

Dick grabbed his towel and phone from the chair next to Damian. “You guys be good,” he called over his shoulder as he headed inside to call Barbra without having to shout over the music they had playing outside.

Damian rolled his eyes and looked to where Connor, who had rejoined the others in the pool, and Tim were now battling Jason and Steph in a game of Chicken with Cass as referee. He hardly felt that he and Jon were the ones who needed to be reminded of their manners. 

* * *

  
  


Barbara was able to get out of work relatively early and arrived at the manor not long after the Kent’s had left. 

The manor’s younger occupants, sun tired from spending the day outdoors, were more reserved come evening, and a quiet din replaced the usual uproar that was a Wayne family dinner. Aside from Damian threatening to stab Jason with just enough intent in his voice that Bruce made a mental note to give Damian another lecture on Why We Don’t Stab Family Members, it was an altogether pleasant meal.

After dinner, Dick and Barbara followed Damian down to the Cave. While Damian collected his Robin gear to take with him to Blüdhaven, Barbara wheeled herself in front of the Bat Computer to see if she couldn’t find anything on Grant Gine. 

“Grab a few extra smoke pellets and Batarangs. I don’t have enough equipment at my place to keep your utility belt stocked all weekend,” Dick instructed as Damian folded his uniform into a nondescript duffle bag. 

“Hey, Dick,” Barbara called from her place at the computer.

“What’s up? You find something already?” Dick asked and hastened to Barbara’s side. 

There was no new information on-screen. In fact, the only thing on the monitor was the name of the man in question: Grant Gine. 

“Grant Gine is definitely an alias,” Barbara replied. She hit a key on the computer’s panel. The letters in Grant Gine’s name began to rearrange themselves, shifting so that they instead spelled out interGanG.

“It’s an anagram,” Dick realized.

Barbara nodded. “At least we know Tim was right about the robbery being a stunt.”

Dick sighed. “Yeah, but this also confirms that Intergang knows we’re watching. We just lost the element of surprise.”

Barbra pursed her lips. “Well, hopefully you and Damian can get something out of Gine. I’m gonna stay here and work the comm lines tonight, so I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Dick smiled. He leaned down and gave Barbara a quick kiss. “Damian, you ready?” he then called. 

“Ready,” Damian answered, slinging the duffle over his shoulder. His backpack with his civilian clothes and personal items was already in Dick’s car. 

Dick stole one last kiss from Barbara, and then he and his little brother made their way upstairs, leaving Oracle to start searching for Grant Gine’s true identity.

The rest of the Bats had settled in the den to relax while they waited for night to fall. There was a movie playing on the flat screen, but Cass and Steph seemed to be the only ones paying attention. Tim was looking at his phone with a dopey smile on his face that usually meant he was texting Kon. Jason was lost in a book he’d snatched from the manor’s library, and Bruce was reading over what looked like a merger proposal for Wayne Enterprises. Alfred was still in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. 

Dick poked his head inside the den. “Staying here tonight, Jay?” he asked, looking to where Jason was curled in the corner of the couch. Dick was surprised the second Robin had made it through this much family time without almost shooting someone. 

Jason shrugged. “Gonna patrol with Timbo and Blondie.”

“No Cass?”

“With B tonight,” Cass replied, sparing Dick a quick glance before turning back to her movie. 

“Are you and Damian heading out?” Bruce asked, pushing himself up from his chair and tossing aside his WE paperwork. 

“Yup, came to say bye,” Dick answered, still lingering in the doorway. Damian stood at his side. 

A few absent goodbyes were shouted their way, Jason’s “Bye, Dickface! Bye, Demon Spawn!” reverberating the loudest. 

Bruce walked Dick and Damian to the door, stopping briefly in the kitchen so his sons could bid farewell to Alfred. 

“Let me know if you make any headway on the Michaelson case,” Bruce told his oldest. Then, looking at his youngest, he added, “And you listen to your brother. On and off the field.”

“Yes, Father, I know,” Damian replied, exasperation obvious in his tone. 

The corners of Bruce’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

Bruce rested a hand on Damian’s shoulder, squeezing affectionately. With a final farewell, the first and last Robin made their way out of the manor. Bruce allowed himself a small smile, closing the manor door behind his sons. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Nightwing meet Grant Gine.

“Hey, Beautiful,” Dick greeted, his shoulder holding his phone to his ear as he pulled on his gloves. Damian sat behind him, perched on the edge of Dick’s bed as he laced up his combat boots. It was just after sundown, and he and Dick were getting ready to head to the station to talk with Gine, who was still in a BPD holding cell awaiting arraignment. 

“Hold on, let me put you on speaker so Damian can hear,” Dick said into the phone. He removed the phone from his ear. “Alright, go ahead,” he said, and Barbra’s voice reverberated through the room. 

_“Alright, so Grant Gine’s real name is Vincent Carlyle. I was able to pick him up on facial recognition,”_ she said. _“But here’s the kicker: Carlyle was declared legally dead about a year ago.”_

A muffled _“Relatable”_ could be heard through the phone speaker, probably Jason in the Cave with Babs as he suited up for his own patrol. 

Dick ignored his brother. “C.O.D.?” he asked.

_ “No official cause," _ Babs answered. _ "He went missing six years ago while driving back to Blüdhaven from Newark. His car was found, completely totalled, off the side of a back road. It was abandoned. Authorities suspected he had hit his head in the crash and wandered into the woods at the edge of the road. He was never found, and ultimately presumed dead.” _

“Does this Carlyle have a criminal record?” Damian asked. His boots now laced, he stood to fasten his cape.

_“Yeah, but no serious charges. Two D.U.I.s and one count of petty larceny.”_

Dick hummed, thinking. “I’m wondering,” he said after a moment. “Did Carlyle run into Intergang after his crash, or was the crash staged so that he could work for them under the radar?”

_“I’m not sure,”_ Babs returned. _“I’ll keep digging into his life, see if I can find where their paths may have crossed.”_

With a quick goodbye, she ended the call. 

“You ready?” Dick asked, slipping his escrima sticks into their holsters.

Damian pressed his mask to his eyes. “Ready,” he said.

* * *

The chill of the wind slapped against Robin’s face as he swung from his grapple line. He kept his eyes firmly on Nightwing, trusting his brother to lead the way in a city he wasn’t quite as familiar with. Soon enough, Nightwing dropped from his grapple, tucking and rolling onto the roof of the BPD precinct. Robin followed his lead, retracting his grapple line and dropping down onto the building below. He landed with a muted thud as his boots made contact with the roof.

Before they’d left, Dick had explained to Damian that Blüdhaven PD wasn’t quite as cooperative as Gotham when it came to vigilantes. There was no Nightwing Signal like there was a Bat Signal. In fact, Nightwing had had the police run after him, guns blazing, more than a few times. Nightwing may be a known affiliate of Batman and the Justice League, but according to the BPD, vigilantism was still technically illegal. 

It didn’t help that Blüdhaven was still crawling with a number of corrupt officers. Dick and a handful of allies were doing what they could to clean up the force, but a mission like that took time.

So for at least the time being, Nightwing limited his interactions with BPD. Sergeant Amy Rohrbach, a friend and superior to Officer Grayson, was the only official contact Nightwing had in Blüdhaven. 

Rohrbach was waiting on the roof when Nightwing and Robin arrived. “Nightwing,” she nodded in greeting. “Brought a sidekick tonight?”

Robin scoffed at the word sidekick, but both adults ignored his indignation. “This is Robin,” Nightwing said instead, placing a hand on Robin’s shoulder.

Amy nodded once in acknowledgement before saying, “So, what did you need?”

“Grant Gine,” Nightwing said. “We need to talk to him.”

“And why’s that?”

“We think he’s connected to a larger case. You ever hear of Intergang?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of them. Their tech managed to take out half a city block about a year back. Nearly killed one of my rookies,” Amy said. “You think Gine is connected?”

“We’re pretty sure. Gine’s real name is Vincent Carlyle. Grant Gine is an anagram. Rearrange the letters and it spells out Intergang,” Nightwing explained.

Amy cursed under her breath. “Alright,” she conceded. She pulled the sleeve of her coat up to glance at her wristwatch. “I can give you fifteen minutes with him.” She locked eyes with Nightwing, gaze firm. “Not a minute more, you understand?”

Nightwing agreed. Without another word, Amy turned on her heel to face the door that led back into the precinct. Nightwing and Robin followed. Amy led them to an interrogation room where they waited, hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit room, while she retrieved Carlyle from holding. 

It only took a couple minutes for Amy to return. She walked behind Carlyle, whose shoulders were hunched and hands cuffed behind him. Even slouching, Dick could tell he was tall, probably around the same height as Jason or Bruce, though not nearly as toned. He was stout, maybe even a little pudgy, with beady eyes and a rounded nose. Both his hair and stubble were pale red, both closely cropped.

“I told you, I’m not talking to no cops,” he grumbled as Amy pushed him inside. 

“I know,” she replied evenly. “You’re not here to talk to cops.”

“What are you—” he began, but he trailed off as Nightwing and Robin stepped forward. An unnerving smile spread across Carlyle’s face. “They said to expect a visit from the Bats.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. That answered one question: Intergang knew that the Bats were the ones looking into their expansion, and apparently, they wanted their attention.

Amy, who was just about to leave the interrogation room, hesitated. She looked over her shoulder at Nightwing, uncertainty obvious in her expression. Nightwing nodded at her, a silent promise that they were okay. She hesitated a moment more, then lifted her chin and left the room, closing the door behind her. 

“Who’s ‘they,’ Carlyle?” Nightwing asked. He pulled a chair back with his foot, twisting it so he could sit in it backwards. “Intergang?”

Carlyle remained quiet, but he moved to sit in the chair opposite Nightwing. He seemed unsurprised that Nightwing knew his real name.

“We know you’re working for them,” Robin interjected. “There’s no use denying it.”

Carlyle chuckled. “Pushy, this one, isn’t he?” he said, his eyes on Nightwing. “He your kid or something?”

“No.”

“He Batman’s kid? I’ve always wondered that. There have been, what, four or five different Robins? Even a girl once. That little blonde one? No way the Bat has that many brats.”

Nightwing remained quiet. 

The two men stared at each other, stoic, each waiting for the other to speak first. 

It was Robin who eventually broke the silence. “Listen here, swine,” he spat. Carlyle turned to look at Robin, an eyebrow raised. “We know you’re working for Intergang, and we know that they’re planning something. You’re going to tell us what that something is.”

“I am?” Carlyle asked, voice lilting. He turned back to face Nightwing. “You’re wasting your time here. They told me you’d come, and they told me that you’d have no proof of my connection to Intergang. You have nothing on me, so I stay quiet, do two or three years for attempted armed robbery, and then once I get out, they pay me for my troubles, and I’m done with Intergang and have enough dough to keep me happy till I die. You know, for real this time.”

“You’re ‘done with Intergang?’” Nightwing echoed. “You’re not loyal to them, are you? You’re just in it for the money?” Carlyle sniffed, and Nightwing bobbed his head as if the sniff told him all he needed to know. “You ran into them sometime after your crash,” he started. Carlyle stiffened, just barely, but enough that Nightwing knew he was onto something. “You stumbled into their operation, you saw a little too much, and they gave you an option: They could kill you, or you could work a few jobs for them.”

Carlyle’s jaw locked just tight enough to be noticeable. Nightwing was definitely on the right track. 

“So, here’s the thing,” Nightwing continued. “Your Intergang buds were wrong about something: We  _ do  _ have proof that you’re connected.” He took out a USB that he kept in a hidden compartment in his glove and brandished it in front of Carlyle’s face. Robin stood up a little straighter. They had no definitive proof that Carlyle worked for Intergang. Everything they had was circumstantial at best.

Nightwing was bluffing. 

And Carlyle was falling for it.

Carlyle’s eyes flickered between the USB and Nightwing’s face. Doubt was slowly creeping into his expression, an obvious uncertainty as to whether he should trust Nightwing or Intergang. 

“No one outside of the Bats knows what’s on this drive,” Nightwing continued. “But if it happened to fall into Sergeant Rohrbach’s hands, well, you’ll be facing a lot more than two to three years.” He tucked the drive away. Carlyle’s eyes stayed glued to the where the USB was stowed in Nightwing's glove, as if it might just fall into Amy’s possession if he didn’t keep his eyes on it. 

“Illegal weapons dealing is going to give you another five to ten. Since Intergang has posed quite a problem for Blüdhaven in the past, what with the whole Dudley Soames incident, I’d bet you’d be getting the max sentence. So that’s closer to thirteen years behind bars. That’s a lot more than three, isn’t it?”

Carlyle’s mouth hung open slightly, as if he wanted to speak but wasn’t quite sure what to say. 

“And that’s assuming we can’t link you to the Micahelson murder,” Nightwing added. Carlyle shut his mouth, biting the inside of his lip and Nightwing smirked. “And something tells me we can.". 

Carlyle hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward, enough that his chest was almost flat upon the table. “If I talk,” he began. “This stays between us? No cops?” 

Robin fought the urge to smirk. He was almost certain the drive Nightwing had brandished was completely empty.

“No cops,” Nightwing agreed. 

“Alright,” Carlyle yielded. He leaned back into his chair. “What do you want to know?”

“The money that Michaelson smuggled for Intergang,” Nightwing said. “What are they doing with those funds?”

“They don’t tell me much, so I don’t know all the details,” Carlyle prefaced. “But from what I gather, they’ve got their eye on some genetically enhanced Apokolips tech.”

“Weapons?” Robin asked, stepping forward to stand directly at Nightwing’s side.

“Yeah, and advanced ones at that.”

“I thought Intergang got their tech from the New Gods,” Nightwing prompted.

“They usually do, but not this time. They’re buying from some aliens. The, uh, Krolopeans, I think?”

“Kroloteans?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it.”

Nightwing sighed. He’d never ran into a Krolotean himself, but he knew they’d caused a good bit of trouble for the Green Lanterns. Their culture all but revolved around stolen technologies and genetic experiments. How they had managed to get their hands on something as lethal as Apokolips weaponry, Nightwing wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t surprised they were selling to Intergang. 

“Why did they need Michaelson?” Nightwing pressed. “Why not use the funds they already have? Apokolips weapons are sure to sell for a hefty price on the Black Market. Wouldn’t they make enough profit to justify the buy?”

Carlyle shook his head. “They’re not planning to sell. They’re planning their own attack.”

Nightwing straightened in his chair. None of this way Intergang’s usual M.O.

“Who are they planning to attack?” Robin demanded, voice harsh. Intergang had already made it very clear that the Bats were on their radar, not to mention their recent expansions into Gotham and Blüdhaven. If they were planning an attack, the Bats were almost certain to be in the cross-heirs. Still, he needed confirmation. 

“I’m not sure—” 

Robin lunged forward, clutching the collar of Carlyle’s shirt. He pulled Carlyle forward with enough force that his head slammed into the table.

“Robin, stand down,” Nightwing ordered, standing abruptly.

Robin ignored his brother. Instead, he extracted a Batarang from his utility belt, pressing its sharp edge to Carlyle’s neck. Carlyle’s eyes widened, frantic, as a drop of blood fell from where the Batarang met his flesh. “I don’t know! I honestly don’t know!” he sputtered. 

“Robin! Stand down!” Nightwing repeated, voice firm. Robin looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s an order,” Nightwing barked, and his tone left no room for argument. Robin let go of Carlyle’s collar, returning the Batarang to his utility belt, and eyeing Carlyle as he collapsed back in his chair.

“Robin—” Nightwing scolded, but before he could finish his thought, Carlyle began to ramble. 

“I honestly don’t know who their target is!” he cried. “They never told me. I just know they want to finish expanding before they make their move.”

Nightwing, seemingly forgetting his anger with Robin, shifted his attention back to Carlyle. “Are they expanding beyond Gotham and Blüdhaven?” he asked. 

“Beyond the East Coast,” Carlyle amended. “They’re still based in Metropolis, but they want groups stationed nationally.”

“Where?” Dick asked.

“Gotham and ‘Haven on the East Coast, then Star and Coast City on the West. Central City and, uh, one other Midwest city… Somewhere in Minnesota, I think.”

“Fawcett City?” Dick asked warily.

“Yeah, yeah that’s it.”

Nightwing and Robin looked at each other, a silent acknowledgement passing between them. Each of those cities were notorious, almost all of them home to at least one Leaguer. Blüdhaven was the one exception, though its close proximity to Gotham in addition to the known relationship between Nightwing and the League could easily explain away the anomaly.

There was almost no doubt about it. Intergang was going after the Justice League.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but next update has lots of Dick & Damian brotherly bonding to make up for it!
> 
> The Dudley Soames incident referenced in the interrogation scene is from Nightwing (1996) #50


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is a good big brother.

Robin stood at the edge of the BPD rooftop, eyes scanning the horizon as he waited for Nightwing to finish briefing Batman. 

Blüdhaven’s skyline, he realized, was different than Gotham’s. Most of the buildings were tall with straight edges, far less ornate than the Gothic designs that dominated Gotham. Blüdhaven, Damian thought idly, would be far easier to sketch.

It was odd. Most people saw Gotham and Blüdhaven as interchangeable. They were close in proximity- only about a half hour apart- and both were crawling with crime. They were big cities with big city problems. Damian, though, noticed the differences.

Crime in Blüdhaven was less obvious than in Gotham. In Gotham, crime was omnipresent. Seedy characters lurked at the ends of allies, waiting for vulnerable passerbys. Joker blew up buildings. Scarecrow released Fear Toxin over unsuspecting crowds. Gotham villains created spectacles, fighting for Batman’s attention. 

In Blüdhaven, crime was quiet. Criminals flew under the radar, and pulled strings to get their way. Corruption in Blüdhaven ran deep– deep enough that trusted officials were sometimes more dangerous than strangers on the street. 

Beyond Gotham and Blüdhaven, crime continued to differ from city to city. In Central, Flash’s rogues treated crime as a game. In Star, villains went after Green Arrow more often than they did civilians. Green Lantern usually went unnoticed in Coast City, only making appearances when local authorities were in need of assistance. Fawcette, too, was usually quiet, unless one of Captain Marvel’s Big Bads showed their face.

Despite these differences, though, Intergang had plans to expand to each of the six cities, plans that undoubtedly involved the Leaguers who protected those cities.

“Robin,” Nightwing called. Damian turned and faced him, expectant. 

“B is going to contact the Leaguers whose cities are on Intergang’s hit list,” Dick explained. “After patrol, he’s going to start looking into each city and see if he can spot any recent anomalies in gang activity. Since Intergang moved in on the Prophets in Gotham, they might be using similar methods in other areas.”

“What about Blüdhaven?” Damian asked. “Have you noticed any abnormal gang activity?”

Dick sighed. “No, but I don’t usually deal with gangs in either uniform. I’ll start asking around the precinct on Monday if Batman and Red Robin don’t find anything tonight.”

“You briefed Red Robin as well?”

“No, but B is going to brief everyone as soon as they get back from patrol, and knowing Red, he’ll be up all night investigating.” Dick stretched his arms above his head. “Anyways,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

“Where to?” Damian asked. Dick hadn’t said anything about patrolling tonight, though he supposed it was to be expected. Their time with Carlyle had been brief enough that there was still plenty of time until sunrise. 

Dick, though, just grinned at Damian. “You’ll see,” he said. 

Damian narrowed his eyes. Perhaps they weren’t patrolling, then. 

Dick took a running start, then leaped off the building’s edge, his grapple line catching on the next building over. Damian followed after him, swinging from rooftop to rooftop. 

Eventually, the pair touched down upon solid ground. “We’re here,” Dick declared. Damian raised an eyebrow. The street was deserted, the only noise the quiet hum of the wind. 

And then Damian saw it. 

A neon sign flickered a few paces behind Dick, advertising an old-style, twenty-four-hour diner. Large windows framed the entrance, and Damian peered inside. 

The floor was checkered in black and white tiles. The booths were made of cheap, red leather. A jukebox stood neglected in the corner as a pair of waitresses in collared dresses and white aprons tended to the breakfast bar. One lazily wiped down the counter with a tattered rag, while the other tended to the handful of late-night patrons that filled the seats of the breakfast bar– two men, both of whom looked like long haul truckers seeking reprieve from their night on the road, and a young couple, dressed in getups that suggested this was a pit stop after a night out.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “A diner?” he deadpanned.

Dick grinned. “Best milkshakes in Blüdhaven. Come on.”

“Shouldn’t we change first?” Damian asked, picking at the edges of his cape. He knew, though, that Grayson would insist they visit the diner in uniform. 

Dick had done this before, pulling Damian away from patrol in favor of finding a late-night diner or fast food joint, though the last time he’d done so had been over a year ago. The tradition had begun when Dick and Damian had been operating as Batman and Robin. Damian suspected that Dick had taken pity on him, a young kid with a miserable upbringing and a father who was presumed dead. Cutting patrol short in favor of getting McFlurries from the McDonald’s on Park Street was Dick’s attempt to give Damian the childhood he’d never had.

Damian had hated it at first, but the tradition grew on him over time. He and Dick would usually take their late-night treats to the top of a skyscraper and look out over the skyline as they sipped milkshakes or sodas. 

Now, the only part of the tradition Damian hated was Dick’s insistence that they order their treats in full vigilante uniform. Dick may thrive on the attention, but Damian despised it. (Although, he would admit that the pure shock of the McDonald's cashier as Dick, in full Batman gear, ordered his newly appointed Robin a Happy Meal had been rather amusing. It was, at least, far more enjoyable than the time they’d gone to Batburger and the workers had assumed they were crazed Batman fans dressed up as their idols.)

As expected, Dick shook his head. “Nah. Going in costume is half the fun.”

“Uniform,” Damian corrected half-heartedly, but Dick ignored his correction and strutted toward the diner. Damian groaned and pulled his hood over his head, but followed nonetheless.

A bell chimed over their heads as the heroes stepped into the diner. Eyes immediately turned their way, and both the patrons and waitresses stared, wide eyed and unabashed. Dick, seemingly unbothered by the stunned silence, sauntered up to the counter, grinning at the nearest waitress. Damian trailed after him, feet dragging and arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey there,” Dick greeted the nearest waitress. “Could we get a couple milkshakes to go?”

The waitress shook herself out of her stupor. “Um, yeah. Of course,” she answered. She stood up straighter, pushed her hair behind her ears, then reached into the pocket of her apron for an order slip. “What flavors?” she asked. 

“Robin?” Dick prompted, smiling at his younger brother as if there was nothing odd about their visiting a local diner while dressed from head to foot in kevlar armor and domino masks pressed over their eyes.

“Chocolate,” Damian answered, glaring at Dick out of the corner of his eye.

“One chocolate, one vanilla,” Dick told the waitress. “And could we get an order of fries too?”

* * *

Not twenty minutes later, Nightwing and Robin were seated atop a skyscraper about a block over from the diner. Their legs dangled off the edge of the building as they looked out over the horizon. 

The lids to their milkshakes were discarded, the bag of fries nestled between them. They both stole fries from the bag, dipping them in their shakes. 

“Remember the first time we did this?” Dick asked. “It took me a good ten minutes to convince you to try dipping your fries in the milkshake.”

“I thought you were trying to deceive me.”

“Deceive you?”

“Yes. It sounded disgusting,” Damian replied, before promptly snatching a cluster of fries and dunking them in his shake.

Dick laughed.

They were quiet for a while, the only sound between them the rustling of their to-go bag and the quiet din of the city down below. Soon, the fries were gone, and their milkshakes emptied, but neither made an effort to move from their roof’s edge.

“We haven’t done this in a while,” Dick said.

Damian hummed in agreement. “I’m not a child anymore,” he said. “This- the ice cream and fast food during patrol- it was your way of giving my childhood some semblance of normalcy.”

“More or less,” Dick agreed. “You’d also talk more when it was just the two of us. I mean, you’re not exactly Chatty Cathy now, but you were even worse when you were a kid. You’d talk about missions, about fighting, and that was pretty much it.”

Damian nodded. Up until he’d come to Gotham, his entire life revolved around fighting and killing. Even his formal education had been structured to give him advantages as a fighter and assassin. It wasn’t surprising that Grayson had had to all but force him to talk about something other than mission strategies or martial arts forms.

“You know,” Dick continued. “I think Jon was really the one who got you to start opening up to others.”

Damian scoffed.

“I’m serious,” Dick said. “He’s a good influence on you.”

“He’s twelve.”

“A twelve-year-old with the powers of Superman, who somehow manages to lead a more normal life than any of us.” Dick paused, then grinned. “You’ve become way more talkative since you two became friends.”

“I have not.”

“Have to.”

Damian rolled his eyes, refusing to give into Dick’s childish antics. 

“So,” Dick said, leaning back on his hands. “How’s school?”

Damian shrugged. “School is fine. My classes present little challenge, but without having to study, I have more time to train.” Damian mimicked Dick and reclined onto his hands. “I do enjoy my art class,” he added as an afterthought. 

Dick smirked. “See. Two years ago you would have said, ‘It’s fine,’ and left it at that.”

Damian glared at his brother. Dick just smiled. “So art class, huh?” he said. At Damian’s nod, Dick continued. “B showed me that drawing you gave him of Batcow. You’re a pretty good artist, Baby Bat.”

“Thank you,” Damian replied easily. He cast his gaze back over the Blüdhaven horizon. Even in the later hours, the city lights were bright. Damian studied the scene intently, committing the view to memory so he could turn the skyline into a color pencil sketch when he returned to Gotham. 

“How are the kids at Gotham Academy, these days?” Dick asked idly, and Damian pulled his eyes away from the skyline to turn and face his brother. “I never really got along well with the kids there. I mostly just stuck by Babs.”

Damian shrugged. “They’re fine, I guess. There are quite a few imbeciles skating by on their parents’ riches, but I suppose that’s to be expected.”

Dick snorted. “Yeah, sounds like Gotham Academy. Do you have any friends there, though?” Then, with a sly grin, he added, “A girlfriend maybe?”

Damian stiffened slightly. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said. He would never have a girlfriend. Maybe a boyfriend someday, but never a girlfriend. 

Damian took a breath. “Actually, I-” he began, but he faltered. 

He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. He had been wanting to come out to Grayson. In fact, he’d planned to come out during his weekend in Blüdhaven. He’d already come out to his father, and it had played out well. 

Drake, too, knew he was gay. Damian had been unsure of whether or not he wanted to come out to his father’s side of the family- his mother was almost guaranteed to take issue with his being gay, and the very idea of Talia somehow finding out had deterred him from coming out at all. He’d consulted Drake for advice on the issue, the logical person to go to considering he had come out to Bruce and the rest of their family just over a year ago.

Now, Grayson had just presented him with the perfect opportunity to come out. Damian would be a fool not to take it. 

“Dami, you okay?” Dick asked. 

“I’m fine,” Damian answered. Then, before he could overthink the matter, he added, “And I’m gay.”

Dick blinked. “Oh,” he said.

A beat of silence passed between them, somehow far more uncomfortable than the long stretch of silence they had shared just minutes earlier. Damian turned away from Grayson, returning his gaze to the city skyline, and ignoring the burning of his cheeks. 

As was expected, Dick was the one to break their silence. “Do you have a boyfriend, then?”

For the second time that night, Damian groaned and pulled his hood further over his head.

* * *

The next morning, Dick took Damian back to the twenty-four-hour diner, this time in civilian clothes. They ate pancakes soaked in butter and syrup, and listened to quiet 50’s music that the other patrons queued from the jukebox. 

After breakfast, they returned to Dick’s apartment. Damian hooked up his PS4 to Dick’s TV, and the two wasted the afternoon playing video games and snacking on chips and cookies Dick had bought in preparation for Damian’s visit. 

They got take-out for dinner, and ate in front of the TV, a movie of Damian’s choosing playing on screen. It was an R-rated action flick that Dick was pretty sure Damian wasn’t actually allowed to watch. The action itself was nowhere near as bad as what Dick and Damian had seen in real life, but every other word was a curse word, the dialogue was full of graphic sex jokes, and there was a ridiculous amount of nudity considering this was an  _ action movie _ .

Dick was half-tempted to turn the movie off, but he wanted the Cool Big Brother Points. 

“Don’t tell Bruce or Alfred I let you watch this,” Dick said warily.

“I’m not a child,” Damian bit back almost immediately.

“Dude, I’m twenty-five and I think this might be inappropriate for  _ me _ ,” Dick retorted as the lead actress took her shirt off  _ again _ . “Seriously, you’re only fifteen, should you be watching this?”

“Grayson,” Damian sighed, and Dick could feel his Cool Big Brother Points slipping through his fingers. 

It wasn’t until the credits were rolling that Dick realized Damian had conveniently had to use the bathroom or step into the kitchen to refill his soda every time a sex scene had come on-screen. The realization was oddly reassuring.

Night soon fell, and Nightwing and Robin took to the streets. They followed Dick’s usual patrol route, hitting downtown Blüdhaven the hardest, then skirting along the outsides of Blüdhaven’s wealthier areas. They kept their eyes peeled for signs of Intergang, but with the Carlyle stunt still fresh, the syndicate would likely wait a while before making their next move.

Throughout patrol, Damian was reminded once again of just how different Blüdhaven was compared to Gotham. They ran into exactly zero supervillains, and partook in just as many rooftop chases. By the night’s end, they’d only had to intervene twice: Once to stop a mugging on the corner of Fourteenth Street, and once to stop an attempted rape in an alley off of Grand Avenue. (If the would-be rapist walked away with a few more battle scars than the mugger, that was nobody’s business.)

Sunday morning rolled around, and Dick and Damian once again returned to the diner. They then milled around downtown for a few hours before returning to Dick’s apartment to resume their video game marathon. They ordered a pizza for dinner, and Dick let Damian choose another movie to watch as they ate. To Dick’s relief, Damian chose a film with absolutely no naked actors or sex scenes.

After dinner, Damian collected the few things he’d brought with him to Blüdhaven, and he and Dick began the short drive back to Gotham.

“Can I ask you something?” Dick said, not ten minutes into their drive. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, tapping to the beat of the Top 40 trash that blared through the car speakers.

“Yes, your taste in music is just as bad as Timothy’s,” Damian drawled. 

“Thanks for the input, but not what I was going to ask,” Dick deadpanned. Damian remained quiet, and Dick took the lack of response as an invitation to continue. “So, you came out to me the other night.”

“That’s not a question,” Damian mumbled, shoving his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“No, I know. But have you come out to anyone else yet?”

“I’ve told Father,” Damian answered. Then, reluctantly, he added, “And Drake.”

“Tim?” Dick asked, surprise obvious in his tone. “You came out to Tim?” The implied _before me_ remained unsaid, though Damian heard it all the same.

“I only told Drake because I sought advice. I didn’t  _ come out _ to him, I merely consulted him on the issue,” Damian clarified. “Rest assured Richard, you are still my favorite brother.”

Dick snorted. “Gee, thanks.” 

They fell into an easy silence, the only sounds between them the hum of the car’s engine and the quiet buzz of the radio. Damian, growing tired of Dick’s music, was just about to fish his headphones from his backpack when Dick asked, “So, got your eyes on any boys?”

“ _ Richard _ ,” Damian blanched.

“What? I’m making conversation,” he teased, a small smile dancing across his lips.

“You’re being a nuisance,” Damian amended. He pulled his backpack onto his lap and began digging through the front pocket for his headphones.

“No boys then?” 

“ _ No _ ,” Damian said decisively. Finally locating his headphones, he pulled them from his bag eager to end the conversation, but Dick apparently didn’t notice or didn’t care, and continued talking.

“Are you going to come out to the rest of the family?” he asked, his smile giving way to a look of curiosity.

Damian shrugged. “They’ll find out eventually, I suppose.”

“You mean when you start dating?”

“I mean when you tell them,” Damian deadpanned.

“What?” Dick asked, brow furrowing. 

Damian sighed, and it was a sigh Dick was familiar with; his God, my family is really so dense that I have to explain the obvious to them. 

“You’re apparently quite the gossip, Grayson,” Damian said. Ignoring Dick’s shout of indignation, Damian continued, “Drake suggested that the others would know within a week of my coming out to you.”

“Timmy said that?”

“And Father all but confirmed it.”

Dick huffed. “Okay, so maybe I was going to tell Babs,” he conceded. “But I wouldn’t have told  _ everyone _ .”

Damian raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. 

“Really, Damian,” Dick said, sparing Damian a quick glance before turning his eyes back to the road. “Coming out, that’s a big deal. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

Damian didn’t reply, instead shoving his headphones into his ears. Dick sighed and returned his full focus to the road, inching towards the off-ramp that led into Gotham. 

It wasn’t until they were approaching the wealthier outskirts of the city, where Wayne Manor was nestled, that Damian removed his headphones and spoke.

“You can,” he said.

“Can what?” Dick asked absently, leaning on his horn as a motorcycle cut him off. 

“Tell the others,” Damian replied, twisting an earbud between his thumb and forefinger. “Todd and Cain and the rest. I don’t care if they know.”

“Know? God, what is this asshole doing?” Dick exclaimed. The same motorcycle that had cut him off was now driving very, very slowly in front of Dick’s car. Dick honked again.

“That I’m gay,” Damian answered, ignoring Dick’s theatrics. 

Dick huffed and changed lanes. He and the idiot driving the motorcycle were the only ones on the road. They were nearly at Wayne Manor, and the larger Gotham estates were secluded enough that the roads leading up to the property were almost always empty. 

“You don’t want to tell them yourself? What the-  _ why?” _ Dick shouted as the motorcycle, once again, cut in front of his car before, once again, slowing to snail’s pace.

“Now that both you and Father know, I don’t much care who else finds out. Aside from my mother, I doubt anyone will have a problem with it.”

“You think Talia will have a problem with you being gay?” Dick asked, once again swerving around the motorcycle that seemed determined to be a pain in his ass.

Damian scoffed. “I know she will. It impairs the purity of the Al-Ghul bloodline.”

Dick sighed. “Talia’s priorities are pretty twisted, but you're her son, Dami. I doubt she- Oh, come on!” 

The motorcycle once again cut in front of Dick’s car, and with the lanes merging into a one-way road, Dick was unable to get around him once more. He laid onto his horn once more and received a middle finger from the driver in return. 

“Is he serious?” Dick said. “Wait, where’s he going?” he added as the motorcycle rounded the corner that led to the entrance of Wayne Manor, approaching the security gate. “Who-” Dick cut himself off as the driver removed his helmet to reveal Jason, a shit-eating grin on his face. He flipped Dick off once more, before facing the stone gatepost, allowing Bruce’s ridiculous security system to scan his retinals. The gates crept open and Jason sped up the driveway, Dick following close behind. 

“What was the point of that?” Dick asked, slamming the driver’s side door shut after parking just behind Jason’s bike. 

“No point,” Jason answered. “You’re just fun to fuck with.”

Dick rolled his eyes before turning to face Damian. “Don’t forget your Robin stuff,” he reminded his younger brother. Damian, who was already opening the back door to grab the nondescript duffle, rolled his eyes.

“Stop mother-henning, Dickface,” Jason said. “C’mon, the old man wants to see us.”

“He does?” Dick asked. 

“Michaelson case,” Jason said in answer.

Dick nodded curtly. Last he’d spoken to Babs, the rest of the family had been briefed on the new intel Nightwing and Robin had uncovered, and, as expected, Batman and Red Robin had busied themselves in the Cave all weekend with research and detective work. If Bruce was calling a family meeting, he and Tim may have found something.

Dick, Jason, and Damian ambled up towards the manor, and once inside, headed straight for the Cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! Told ya this chapter would have a bunch of Dick & Damian brotherly bonding!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up [on Tumblr](https://nightwingbb.tumblr.com/) if you wanna chat in between updates!


End file.
